Julia's Daughters (19 page)

Izzy doesn't say anything; she just keeps petting the cat.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes for a minute. I've driven a little over six hundred miles today and I had the pants scared off me this morning. I'm tired. So tired I wonder how the girls would react to the idea of just grabbing something at a grocery store, checking into the hotel, and skipping the restaurant. We could have a picnic on one of the beds: good bread, cheese, olives, some gourmet cookies. It could be fun. And I could eat in the SpongeBob PJ bottoms Izzy loaned me. I sit here contemplating a long shower for a couple of minutes.

Then I open my eyes. “How long has Haley been inside?”

“I don't know,” Izzy says.

I pick up my cell phone. Laney's texted me.

I'll call her later. Or maybe just text her.

It's 8:43. Has Haley been in the store ten minutes? Or has it been more than ten? It doesn't take ten minutes to buy Band-Aids. And the place isn't busy. I haven't seen anyone go in since she did and only one person come out.

I set my phone back on the console. I wait another two minutes before I pull the keys out of the ignition. “Stay in the car,” I say.

“You're leaving me here?”

I hear Izzy release her seat belt. “I don't want to stay here. I want to go in with you.”

“Stay.” I get out of the car. “And keep the doors locked until I get back.”

“I don't think it's legal to leave kids locked up in—”

I close my door and lock the car with the key fob in my hand. I take one look at Izzy, watching me from the backseat, her face anxious, and I turn away. Then hurry to the sidewalk and through the automatic doors into the bright lights of the store. I glance at the checkout counter. No Haley. In fact, no customers. There's a young man in a blue smock with a nametag texting on his cell.

“Welcome to happy and healthy,” he greets in a Midwestern accent, sounding entirely too cheerful.

I face the brightly lit store, trying to get my bearings. I scan signs. First aid is on the far side of the store. I walk quickly down one of the main aisles running perpendicular to the shorter ones. She's not in hair care. She's not in dental care. The makeup was up front. She wasn't there either. And the aisle of Band-Aids and topical ointments is empty. I take the other main aisle, back toward the front door. There's a man trying to figure out what diapers to get in the baby aisle. There's not another soul in the store, except for the guy up front and another clerk, an androgynous someone, who's stocking toilet paper.

The young man at the front counter looks up and slides his cell into the pocket of his smock. “Can I help you?”

“Was there a girl in here, just a minute ago? Black hair.” I touch my stubby ponytail and scrutinize his face, praying he's an honest soul. “Bought Band-Aids?”

He nods. “Sure was.”

I plant both hands on the counter. “Do you know where she went? She's my daughter.” I feel that sense of panic coming on again. But she doesn't even have her backpack. She couldn't have left. “I was outside waiting for her. I didn't see her come out the front.”

“She asked where the restroom is.” He points. “Near the pharmacy.”

I exhale, realizing only now that I've been holding my breath. “Restroom,” I repeat. “Right. Thanks.” I give him a quick smile and hurry in that direction.

At the back of the store, there's a small hallway right off the pharmacy waiting area. The pharmacy's closed. I push the heavy door labeled
LADIES
and it swings open. I hear the water running before I see her.

She looks up from washing her hands, surprised.

I inaudibly heave a sigh of relief. Am I being paranoid? I think I am. “Have to pee.” I give my daughter the same smile I gave the guy out front. I don't want her to know I'm checking up on her.

“Again? We stopped an hour ago.”

“Hour and a half.” I make a beeline for the closest stall. Luckily, I really do have to pee.

Haley's waiting near the door for me when I come out of the stall. She's got a small plastic bag dangling from her wrist. She isn't wearing her usual black eyeliner today and I realize how young she looks without it. Younger than she is. Is that why she wears it?

I flip on the water and soap my hands. “Get what you need?”

“Yup.”

I rinse and walk over to the paper towel dispenser. It's not the automatic kind. I pull several brown paper towels out and dry my hands. There's a small, open waste can near the door. As I drop my damp paper towels into it, I see a white and pink box on the top.

Even without reading the words, I know what it is. A pregnancy test. And I'm so naïve . . . such an idiot that the first thought that goes through my head is
aww, isn't that sweet? Whoever bought the test was so excited, she couldn't even wait to get home to find out
.

Then it hits me . . . as hard as if Haley reached out and slapped me in the face.

It's
Haley's
pregnancy test. My daughter just took a pregnancy test.

I meet her gaze and I know I'm right. And then I don't know what comes over me. She has the door halfway open and I reach out and shove it shut, practically having to wrestle it because it's on a pneumatic drive.

“You're pregnant?” I shout, loud enough for the young man in the front of the store, no doubt, to hear me. “You're fucking
pregnant?
”

Chapter 32

Haley

 

Mom startles me and I take a step back. Her voice echoes so loud in my head and in the tile bathroom that I want to cover my ears with my hands.

I don't think she's ever yelled at me like this before. She certainly never hollered the F word at me. Moms aren't supposed to say
that.
That word's for punky teenagers like me. Isn't it?

So it scares me.

She
scares me.

As she pushes the door shut, trapping me inside the bathroom with her, I take another step back, without even meaning to. It's just what you do, I guess. You try to get away from the crazy person, even if she's your mother.

When Todd didn't show up last night, when he didn't even bother to text me to tell me he wasn't coming, I was weirdly okay with it. Now, I wish he'd come. I wish I could have made him come for me. I wish I were headed for Alaska right this minute. Even being in a car with loser Todd would be better than being trapped with my mother in a bathroom off an interstate.

“Are you pregnant?” she repeats through gritted teeth.

“No,” I whisper. You'd think my response would be to holler back.
I
think my response should be to holler back, but I don't. “It's negative. See.” I point at the box.

I can't believe I was dumb enough to put it in the trash can. But there wasn't one of those personal hygiene receptacles in the bathroom stall and she wasn't supposed to come into the store. She was supposed to be waiting in the car for me.

“Look for yourself.” I take the two steps to the trash can, grab the box, and pull the pee stick out. I hold it up so she can see. My hand is shaking. I don't know why. “Negative. See?”

She grabs it out of my hand, which is kind of gross, because I peed on it. She stares at it for a second. “Did you follow the directions?” She's still loud. And still
really
pissed. “Because if you didn't follow the directions—”

“I followed the directions,” I tell her. “You just pee on the stick and wait three minutes. I probably waited four or five, just to be sure.”

She stares at the pee stick again for a second and then drops it into the trash can. “Who?” she demands. “Who have you been having sex with?”

There's a knock on the bathroom door. We both look at it.

“Everything okay in there?” comes a voice. It's a woman. She sounds like she's scared of my mom too.

“Everything's fine,” Mom hollers back, making it clear the woman better butt out.

I wonder what would happen if I told the lady on the other side of the door that I
did
need help. My mind races. I could tell her that a madwoman who claims to be my mother has kidnapped me and is holding me against my will.

There
is
some truth to it.

I bet someone would call the cops.

If the cops come, what will happen? They'll just talk to Mom and me and they'll find out I'm a teenager
going through a difficult time
. Once it's all cleared up, they'll let us go. Mom will be mad, but it would sure diffuse what's going on here right now.

I open my mouth to holler for help.

But then I think about Izzy, sitting in the car waiting, with that ratty cat. If the cops come, she'll freak out. What if they take Mom into custody until they talk to Dad to confirm her identity?

Then Mom will have to tell Dad about the pee stick. I don't want him to know. He won't understand. He'll think I'm a ho-bag. He's not a girl. He'll never get it.

Mom's still got her hand on the door to keep anyone from coming in.

The lady knocks again. “Ma'am?”

My mom grabs the door and pulls it open. “Could you excuse me for a second while I speak to my daughter about a pregnancy test she just took in your bathroom?”

I can't see the lady's face. The door is between us. But I can see Mom's. She's looking pretty pissy and pretty snooty.

“Sorry,” the lady mumbles. “Just wanted to be sure everyone was okay.”

“Thank you.” Mom lets go of the door.

I hear footsteps as the employee beats feet.

Mom crosses her arms over her chest. “Who are you having sex with? That man? The one at the house where I picked you up? Do you need to be tested for STDs? AIDS?”

She's still being loud. Her voice is echoing off the bathroom walls. I know the people in the store can hear her and I'm embarrassed. Almost more for her than for me.

When I don't answer, she goes on like a crazy woman. “Are there other men other than him? What about that guy, Miguel, who was hanging around the house before Caitlin died? And Todd? I know very well you've been seeing
him
. Who else did you have sex with? Who could potentially be the father of my grandchild?”

I look down. The plastic bag is hanging off my wrist: more Band-Aids and a pack of elastics for our hair. This morning we realized we only had two to share between the three of us. Mom and Izzy got them today, but we agreed we'd buy some more.

I want to rub my arm. Hard. Or at least bounce my ball. Riding in the car all day, I haven't been getting the chance to bounce much. I miss it. I miss the feel of the ball in my hand, the smell the rubber leaves on my fingers.

“I don't know,” I say quietly. I stare at my Converses.

“You don't know or you won't say?” she demands.

Tears burn my eyes. “I always use a condom. It's just that—” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

I don't know why I'm crying. I was pretty sure I wasn't pregnant. I really
do
make guys use a condom. I don't want anybody's cooties. But there were a couple of times when I was drunk or high or . . . I don't know. I haven't had a period in six or seven weeks. I just figured better safe than—

“Who have you been having sex with, Haley?” Mom grabs me by both arms, just below my armpits. “Who could have gotten you pregnant?”

I choke on my tears. I don't want to cry. I don't want to be weak. I sure don't want her to see me crying. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” she hollers in my face. Then she pulls back. “Were you raped?” Her tone changes drastically. “Oh, God, Haley. Did someone rape you?”

I consider saying yes. Just for a split second.

I pull away from her and wipe my eyes with my sleeve, dragging my arm across my face so I can feel the cuts under the Band-Aids. It hurts. And it feels good. “I'm not pregnant, so why does it matter?” I tell her. But if I was—” I stop and start again. “If I was, I wouldn't know who the father is. Without, you know, a paternity test. But I'm not pregnant.” I try to sound defiant, but I sound like a little girl. “It was negative, Mom. I'm
not pregnant
.” Tears run down my cheeks. “I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I'm sorry. But you don't have to worry. I'm not pregnant.”

She just stands there for a minute looking at me. She's breathing hard. Panting. She turns away suddenly, walks away. “I'm sorry, Haley.” Her voice is shaky. She starts to pace. She's shaking her head. “I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have spoken to you that way.”

“It's okay.” I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “If I were my kid, I might have lost my shit too. I'm a bad person.” I'm shaking my head now too. I look down. “I've done all of these bad things, and now I'm having sex with random guys and—”

“It's not that, sweetie.”

Mom walks over to stand in front of me. She grabs my arms again, but not hard this time. Not out of anger. “I'm upset because I see me in you.”

I look up at her. That's crazy. Mom is perfect. She's beautiful and she's perfect. That's why I hate her so much. She always does the right thing. She says the right thing. People like her. “What do you mean, you see me in you?” I ask. “We're nothing alike.”

“When I was seventeen . . .” She lets go of my arms and wraps one arm around herself. “When I was seventeen, Haley. That boy I told you about. Rudy.” She keeps starting and stopping and starting again. “We. He and I—” She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. “I got pregnant that summer before my senior year in high school.”

I know my mouth drops open. I couldn't have been any more surprised by that revelation than if she'd told me she and Dad were actually aliens, come to earth to build an alien colony. “You got pregnant?” I whisper, still pretty sure I misheard.

She nods.

“You had an abortion?”

She shakes her head no. “My mother said I had to have the baby. My stepfather, he—”

She looks down and I can tell by the look on her face that remembering this hurts her. A part of me wants to put my arms around her, but I can't do it. I just can't.

“They insisted I had to have the baby, but then I had a miscarriage at ten weeks. No one knows I was ever pregnant when I was seventeen, except my mom and stepdad, Laney and your dad and now—” Her voice catches in her throat. “Now, you.”

I just stand there staring at her for a minute. I can't believe my perfect mother got knocked up by her eleventh grade prom date. I guess, technically, it wasn't a prom-knock-up. But it's sure close.

Mom sighs and walks away. She goes to one of the stalls and pulls out a long ribbon of toilet paper. I watch her blow her nose. “Were you going to run away last night, Haley? The truth.”

I try to weigh the importance of giving her what she wants—the truth—and the pain it will cause her. But who am I kidding? She knows about pain. And it hasn't killed her yet. “I thought about it,” I admit, without an apology. “But then I didn't.” Only a little lie. If Todd had showed up, I don't know if I would have gotten in the car with him or not.

Now she looks pale. She just stands there with the toilet paper in her hand and I think to myself that she needs to spruce herself up. She needs to get some jeans that fit. She needs to dye her hair and she needs some lipstick. She needs to start looking like she's alive again.

“We should go to the car,” is what she finally says. “Izzy's outside alone.”

I put my hand on the heavy door. “Are you going to tell Dad? About the pregnancy test?”

She wipes her nose with the paper and throws it in the trash can. “Your dad and I have never kept secrets from each other.”

I think about that for a second. “Izzy?” I ask.

She walks toward me. She looks tired and upset and scared and I feel bad because, once again, it's all my fault.

“I don't really think this is something your ten-year-old sister needs to know, do you?”

I open the door.

“This conversation is not over,” she warns, walking to the doorway. “It's just tabled. You understand me? And when we get home, you're being tested. For everything. I don't care where. Our family doctor. A clinic. But you're being tested.” She holds her finger up to me. “And it's going to stop. The risky sex. I won't let you ruin your life, Haley.
Damn
it. I'm not going to do it.”

Then she throws her arms around me and she hugs me so hard that it hurts.

And for some reason, I feel a little better.